by Tiffany Snow
“And you’ve got your lunch?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure you want to ride the bus? Because I could take you.”
“I’m sure.”
I chewed my lip as I watched Mia shrug on her jacket. She looked perfect, in black leggings with a long, baggy gray sweater and a patterned scarf around her neck. I would have looked like a burnt marshmallow in that outfit. She was skinny and tall enough to pull it off while looking like a teen supermodel. Her shoes were heeled ankle boots that she said were called “booties.”
“If you need anything, just call or text,” I said. “And make sure to text when you get home, okay?”
Mia sighed as she slung her backpack over one shoulder, then smiled at me. “I’ll be okay, Aunt Chi. I promise.”
I hugged her one more time, marveling at her calm demeanor. The first day of school had always made me a panic-stricken mess. Learning a new schedule, new faces, new teachers—I’d hated it all. Until my routine was established, I barely slept.
“I gotta go,” she said, squirming away. “Jen’s waiting for me.”
“Okay, okay. Have a good day.”
“You, too,” she called back as she hurried outside. I watched until she met up with Jen, then closed the door.
Jackson had said he wanted to meet first thing this morning, but that wasn’t going to happen. Another member of my team was dead and the rest of them had to be freaking out. I’d sent an e-mail last night calling for a meeting at 9:00 a.m.
Now, I sent Jackson an e-mail politely requesting he reschedule until after I’d met with the Wyndemere people. Well, not really a request, per se. More of an I’m-not-going-to-be-there-so-you-might-as-well-save-face-and-reschedule e-mail.
I was right about the team. For once, even John was on time when I walked into the conference room. Lana and George were there, too, and all three of them wore grim expressions. Lana’s eyes were red rimmed.
“I know you’ve all heard about Terry,” I said once I’d taken a seat. “I wanted to address that today as well as talk about where we go from here.”
“Where we go from here?” John interrupted. “Where we go is to dump this damn project. Both Tom and Terry dead within a week of each other? It’s crazy.”
“Why does the project have anything to do with it?” Lana asked him.
“You can’t be that naive,” he shot back. “He’d completed his part, she even said so in that e-mail.” He pointed at me. “Then he winds up dead in a car wreck?” He turned to me. “Seems to me that none of this started happening until Cysnet got involved.”
I stiffened at his accusation. “What are you implying?”
“Tom was the only one who knew the big picture, and he’s dead. Now you and Cooper know, and Terry’s dead. So why don’t you tell us the big secret. At least then we might be able to protect ourselves.”
He did have a point, much as I disliked the man personally. All three of them were now looking expectantly at me. George had maintained his silence, observing the interaction between John and me. I made a decision.
“Tom was the one who decided to keep all of you in the dark as to the other components,” I began. “Not the client. And I think I know why.” I explained what I’d been thinking about the potential of the software, and they immediately saw what I had.
“Who’s writing the integration algorithm?” George asked.
I thought of what I’d seen on Jackson’s computer. “To my knowledge, no one.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Lana said. “There’s no point to any of our pieces without that.”
“I know.”
“If this is a government project,” George said, “then there’s no way they won’t be using this. Antiterrorism and keeping America safe will be used as an excuse to be even more invasive with citizen surveillance.”
“Fuck.” John’s muttered curse was echoed on George’s face. Lana just looked confused.
“Why is that a bad thing?” she asked. “We want to be safe, want to find terrorists before they strike.”
“Exchanging privacy for security,” George said. “Privacy can never be regained and security is never guaranteed.”
“If word gets out that Wyndemere is the author of the software that enables this, it’ll be a public relations nightmare,” Lana said.
“Yes, but the stock price will go through the roof because every other government is going to want that same software,” George added. “It’ll make the company millions.”
No one replied. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the dilemma and none of them were idiots. It was like building the software equivalent of the atomic bomb. You couldn’t uninvent it.
“What we’re going to do is finish the project,” I said. “I know Jackson is having a conversation with Freyda today about security concerns.”
“What we should be doing is shutting down this project and going public,” John argued. “It’s too dangerous to continue. Not to mention if we go public, then they’ll be forced to destroy the software. We don’t know whose hands it’s going to end up in and we can’t take the chance it’ll be someone like the NSA or worse, a foreign power.”
“No way can we do that,” Lana shot back. “We’ll be fired immediately and hit with lawsuits.”
“The whistle-blower program will protect us,” John retorted.
“I’d rather not take my chances,” she said. “I don’t want to end up dead.”
“No one said anything about being dead,” I said firmly. “The police didn’t find any sign of foul play with Tom and so far, Terry’s death is still being considered a car accident. Let’s not get carried away.” Not that I was under any delusions that their deaths were mere accidents, but I had to keep the team calm and on task the best I could.
“We need to figure out who is writing the integration piece,” George said. “Someone is, and I’m guessing they’re getting paid pretty well to do it.” He glanced at the others, then to me.
“It’s no one here,” I reiterated. “And we’re accelerating work as of this moment. Have your teams finish their modules, work around the clock if you have to. Check in any code that’s out and sign off on your area. I’ll inform you should plans change.”
“But we can’t do that—” John began.
“End of discussion,” I cut him off. He looked like he was ready to explode, but he kept his silence. Lana just looked worried, and George’s expression was indiscernible.
One by one, they got up and filed out. John was last and the look he shot me before he went out the door made me glad he wasn’t a permanent employee of mine. I would’ve fired him by now.
My thoughts were spinning as I headed back to my office. I needed to get in touch with Jackson and tell him where things stood. I’d been told by the man in the car to finish the software and I hadn’t. Now Terry was dead. So was his death on my hands? And why were they killing the very people who were trying to finish the software?
I stood at my desk, staring at the blank computer screen, thinking. Terry and his team had finished their part of the project early. I’d sent an e-mail to him, copying the team leads, commending him for his work. Were we being eliminated? So no one would know what we’d done? Exterminate potential whistle-blowers.
The code on Jackson’s computer nagged at me. I needed to see more of it, but was at a loss as to how. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I’d be able to hack through his home network’s firewalls. Was he writing the software? And if he was, why would he keep it a secret?
Mia had texted me when she got home from school and had seemed cheerful. I was anxious to get home to her and hear how her day had gone. Although I’d checked my e-mail religiously, I hadn’t received any messages from the team saying the software was in. The silence worried me. I was as worried about finishing the software as I was about not finishing it. It seemed as though we were damned if we did, and damned if we didn’t.
“Have a good night,” the security guar
d manning the front desk said to me as I passed by.
“You, too,” I replied, glancing around the forlornly empty lobby. My steps echoed on the tile as I walked toward the entrance, which was quite a feat since I had rubber soles on.
I felt the guard’s eyes on me as I left and it gave me a creepy sensation, though I knew he was just doing his job. When I stepped outside, the chill wind took my breath away. It had dropped twenty degrees since I’d gone inside this morning.
Pulling my long-sleeved shirt closer around me, I hurried for my car across the lot. Only a few vehicles remained, scattered randomly like pieces on a checkerboard. The wind whipped my ponytail around into my face and I impatiently shoved the strands away. My Star Wars pajamas were sounding pretty darn good.
I had just reached my car when I heard someone call my name. Startled, I turned and saw Freyda hurrying toward me.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come out,” she said when she neared. She glanced around into the dark woods at the edge of the lot, her body language screaming nerves and fear.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. Her demeanor was light-years from how she’d been the one time we’d spoken. Then she’d been very calm and collected—typifying “professional.”
“I don’t want to stand out here, exposed like this. Can we get in your car and talk?”
“Yeah, sure.” I unlocked the doors and we got inside. It wasn’t warm, but at least we were out of the chill wind. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
Freyda shook her head. “I haven’t been all right since this damn project started.”
I could relate.
“Freyda, who is it for? I know it’s government, right? Which department?” In other words, who wanted the software badly enough to hold a gun to my head?
She hesitated, her eyes darting out the windows again. “You have to swear to me that you’ll keep secret what I’m about to tell you.”
Now it was my turn to hesitate. Sweeping vows of silence before I knew what I was promising to keep secret weren’t really my thing.
She clutched my arm. “Swear to me.” Her eyes were wide and fearful and she was deathly serious.
“I swear.”
She took a deep breath. “The software is called Vigilance and yes, it was commissioned by the government.”
My heart sank. The software on Jackson’s computer had been saved under the same name. It was highly improbable that it was a coincidence.
“Which department?” I asked.
“The NSA. But they started the project three years ago.”
“Three years ago? It’s taken three years to write?”
“No, of course not. It was the Snowden thing. That hit the press and the NSA got their funding cut. They pulled the plug on the project. Until six months ago.”
“What happened six months ago?”
“They started the project again, but it was under the radar. Black budget.”
Shit. Black budget was for classified and secret operations. That didn’t sound good.
“Haven’t you had black budget contracts before?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “But this was different. I thought the NSA was behind reviving the contract, but it wasn’t.”
“Who was it?”
Freyda’s eyes grew bright. “It’s all been on my shoulders all these months,” she said, her voice little more than a strained whisper. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but Tom is dead and now Terry.” She swallowed. “I’m so scared. I don’t know who to trust or why they’re killing us.”
“Who is it?” I asked. “Who commissioned Vigilance?”
Two things happened in immediate succession. The first was that the windshield in front of Freyda broke, shattering into a spiderweb of cracked glass. The second was that a hole appeared in the center of her forehead.
11
Freyda still had tears in her eyes, her expression tight with fear. I was frozen in shock, watching in horror as her body slumped against the door.
Adrenaline kicked in at the same time that my brain started working again. I punched the button to start the engine, threw the car into gear, and stomped on the gas. Rubber squealed on the pavement as I tore out of the lot.
My rear window exploded and I screamed, instinctively ducking down while still trying to see to drive. I swerved, narrowly missing a light post. Stomping on the gas again, I yanked the wheel, squealing my way out of the lot.
Freyda’s body fell my way, landing against my arm. I shoved her away, disgust warring with terror. I’d never touched a dead body before, and now there was one in my car.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, worried the shooter was following me, but saw no one. That didn’t mean I slowed down, though. Instead, I sped up until I hit the highway, then better sense prevailed and I adjusted my speed to the limit. Being pulled over by a cop wasn’t what I wanted right now, not with a dead body in my front seat.
My head was jumbled. I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was trying to get away as quickly as possible.
It took ten minutes of mindless driving before I was able to think clearly. Should I go to the police? How could I even explain what had happened? Would they suspect me of killing Freyda? And powerful people were involved. What if they arranged for my silence as they had Freyda’s?
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I dug it out, hitting the button to answer without looking at the caller ID.
“Yeah?”
“China?”
I didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?”
“It’s Clark. Mia gave me your number. Are you all right? You sound weird.”
“No, I’m not all right. I’m very much not all right.” My voice was strained and I could see the hole in the back of Freyda’s head. My stomach turned over.
“What’s the matter? Where are you?”
“I’m driving. But Freyda—” My throat closed up.
“Who’s Freyda? What happened?” Clark’s anxious voice in my ear made me swallow and get hold of myself.
“Someone shot her. She’s dead, in the front seat of my car.”
Silence. Then, “Holy Christ,” he muttered. “Okay. Drive home. Right now.”
“I can’t bring her body to my house!”
“I’ll help you take care of it. Trust me, China. But you need to get home. How far away are you?”
I glanced around. “About five miles.”
“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” He ended the call.
I didn’t know what to think, except I was grateful not to be alone. Clark would help me. I had no idea how he’d help me, but I wasn’t going to question it at the moment.
Taking a precaution I hoped I wouldn’t need, I reached for Freyda’s limp hand, lifting it to press her index finger and thumb to my rearview mirror. Once done, I quickly dropped it, a shiver running through me. Now I’d deliberately touched a dead body, too. Another shudder.
When I pulled into my driveway, Clark was waiting, as he’d promised. He was yanking open my door before I’d even gotten the car to a full stop.
“Are you all right?” he asked, catching me as I nearly fell in my haste to get out.
“She’s dead,” I blubbered, only now realizing I was crying. “They shot her right in my car, right in front of me . . .”
Clark took me in his arms. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
I clung to him, my whole body shaking now in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush. We stayed like that for a few moments until I calmed down. I never thought I’d be that girl cliché who just needed a strong man to feel safe, but I couldn’t deny he made me feel protected.
Looking past his shoulder to where Jackson’s security guys were supposed to be, I saw they were gone, which sent a chill down my spine. Why weren’t they there? Unless they’d thought I wouldn’t be coming home tonight . . . but I’d think about that later. Right now, I still had to figure out what to do with Freyda.
“I guess we shoul
d call someone,” I said, reluctantly stepping back. I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve. I was sure I looked a wreck, but didn’t particularly care.
“No,” Clark said, surprising me.
I stared. “Why not? What are we going to do with her body?”
“I’ll take care of it. You go inside my house and lock the door. Don’t answer it for anyone, understand?” He brushed his fingers across my forehead and they came away bloody. “You’re cut.”
“I am?” I touched my head and winced. Ow.
“It’s stopped bleeding, but you need to go lie down.”
“I don’t understand. How are you going to ‘take care of it’?”
“Do you trust me?”
I hesitated, then nodded. What choice did I have?
“Good. Now go inside. Lock the doors. I’ll be back soon.”
He watched me until I was inside, then I spied through the window as he got into the driver’s seat of my car and backed out. Only when the taillights disappeared around the corner did I step back.
Mia.
Grabbing my cell phone, I called her, anxious fear curdling my stomach until she finally picked up.
“Aunt Chi, where have you been?” she asked. “Reggie brought by a pizza even though he said you hadn’t called yet. I saved some for you, but he seemed worried. Said you always call Monday nights—”
“Are you okay? Is everything all right there?” I interrupted her chatter.
“Yeah, sure. I’m doing homework. Today was awesome. I love my classes, though my calc teacher is kind of a jerk. Where are you anyway?”
“I’m . . . at work,” I said. “I needed to work late tonight and forgot to call. But I should be home soon.”
“Okay, well don’t work too hard! See you soon!”
“Okay. Bye.” I ended the call. Relief that she was okay made my knees weak and I dropped onto the sofa, my head in my hands.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. My life was a boring one of computer coding, varying ethnic takeout, and the never-ending quest for the perfect bra. Not secrets and murder and people threatening me.
Time passed with agonizing slowness and my eyes grew heavy. My body was feeling the aftereffects of shock and I just wanted to sleep. Unable to stay upright, I curled up on the sofa, resolving to rest for only a few minutes.
